Plan B
by chocaholic123
Summary: Plan B: a strategy or plan to be implemented if the original one proves impracticable or unsuccessful. Best used in the cold light of day, after waking up in bed next to a virtual stranger. An E/B three shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 **

This is not my room.

It's too big, and even through half-shut, bleary eyes I can tell the furnishings are classier and much more expensive than I could ever afford. I try to open my mouth to inhale a deep lungful of air, but my lips are glued together by a mixture of alcohol, dryness and cold, hard regret.

This is all Alice Brandon's fault. When I was chosen to represent our small firm of interior designers at this year's conference, she pulled me aside for a lecture on how this was the perfect opportunity to break my dry spell. Not that she put it quite so delicately. Using words like; 'frigid', 'good hot fuck' and 'practically re-virginated' definitely got her point across.

I'd huffily replied that re-virginated is not, and never has been, a real word. She can't keep taking liberties with the English language and make stuff up, even if she cracks me up the majority of the time.

It hasn't been that long since I last had sex, anyway, though I've been so busy with work that all things romantic are firmly on the back burner. For everything there is a season, and this spring was the time to concentrate on my career. Even if this meant I missed out on intimacy, and the firm touch of a gorgeous man as he wrenched my thighs apart and took everything I had to offer

Alice didn't believe a word of it.

A small moan and a dip of the bed remind me that I'm not alone, even if I'm hiding in my thoughts. It appears my dry spell has turned into a monsoon. I turn to my side and squint at the man next to me, checking his eyes are still closed. I let out a lungful of breath when I see he's still deep in slumber.

I'm so bad at this.

The rules of a one night stand dictate I should gather up my clothes and leave as quietly as possible. My cocktail dress hangs carelessly from the fifty inch TV screen in the corner of the room, but there's no evidence of my panties and bra. I guess we were pretty eager to get rid of our clothes last night. I shut my eyes and remember the way he practically ripped the clothes from my body, before running his hands all over me, palms rising and dipping with the contours of my curves.

My skin tingles with the memory of his touch, and I'm almost regretful I have to leave. But I need to play by the rules. You don't have hot, meaningless sex—three times—with a gorgeous stranger and hang around to make small talk in the morning. You gather up your clothes along with your self-esteem, and make a quick escape, clinging on to the memory of the one hot, steamy night when you were worshipped like a goddess.

And boy, did he worship me. Even before we started to talk in the bar, his gaze was firmly on my body, following me around the room with deep green irises. I'd felt like I was on fire all night, his scrutiny lending me a certain confidence; enough to make me shine amongst the men and women attending the 71st Annual Interior Design Conference.

Bringing myself back to the present, I shimmy out of the queen sized bed, scrambling around the hotel room on my knees, desperate to locate my navy lace bra and panties. They're the best I own—bought in an extravagant fit of madness—and I'm damned if I'm going to leave them behind as a trophy.

Even if he does deserve an award for his prowess.

When I'm dressed I allow myself to take a final, long regretful look at him as he lies on his back. The white cotton sheet is gathered around his waist, his bare chest firm and smooth in the soft morning light. Even asleep, Edward is a total babe, and I'm glad we exchanged first names so at least I'll have something to moan out in my late night solo sessions. He's definitely been awarded the starring role.

I locate my small evening purse on the side table in the lobby. Yes, his suite has a lobby, and it's so beautifully decorated that it seems more like a home than a penthouse room in an expensive hotel. I can't even imagine what the nightly rate must be.

The thick, oak door is all that stands between me and what remains of my dignity. I reach out and pull down the handle. A smile plays on my lips when my stomach rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. I'm thankful for the fabulous buffet breakfast that is included in the price of my room.

Damn. The handle won't give. In the half light of morning, it's hard to locate the locks but eventually I unfasten all three, hoping to god that I haven't woken Edward up with my fumbling. Then I push the handle again, but it remains stubbornly frozen.

I have forty-five minutes until the first workshop begins. I'd planned to spend that time eating breakfast alone and catching up on my emails. Instead I'm in the ridiculous position of having to go back to the bedroom, wake up the hottie, with little hope of making a dignified exit.

I'm so fucked.

My walk back into his bedroom is much less triumphant than my earlier exit. When I glance over at the bed, I can see the sheet has worked its way a little farther down his body in my absence, revealing the dark line of hair stretching down from his navel, and the deep indents of his abdominal muscles. I'm torn between shaking him awake and licking him out of slumber. My body is suddenly on fire and desperate for more.

He murmurs something unintelligible, and I watch as his lips tremble. The same lips which covered every inch of my body with smooth, teasing kisses last night. They'd dragged along my skin until every single nerve ending flared with pleasure, leaving me a quivering wreck.

Damn, now all I want to do is climb back in with him and give him a wake-up call he'll never forget.

I tell myself to focus. I've been tasked with making as many contacts as possible for Whitlock Designs, and that's not going to happen if I spend all day riding this pony. Christ, now I'm even more worked up, my cheeks heated and my thighs clammy. I need to get out of here before I do something I might not regret.

I lean over the bed and shake him.

"Edward?"

His eyelids flutter, and as I lean closer, about to give him a harder push, I feel him come to life. His strong hands clasp my waist as he pulls me back into bed. He presses my spine to his chest, curling his legs behind mine until we are spooning, his breath hot on my neck.

A nudge against my ass tells me he's pleased to see me. Through the thin silk of my dress I can feel the outline of his large cock, hard as steel against the softness of my body.

"Morning, beautiful." He presses his lips into my hair, and the sound of his voice, along with the proximity of his body, makes my insides clench with pleasure. "Did your escape plan fail?"

He's chuckling now, and an involuntary grin spreads across my face when I realize I've been busted.

"I have a workshop in half an hour, I need to get ready." I stare regretfully at my watch. Visions of croissants and orange juice fragment into dust, replaced by the knowledge that I'll be starting the day with an empty stomach. Right on time it gurgles, causing him to laugh softly.

"Stay a little longer," he suggests.

"I need to get to the conference." I'm starting to panic. If Mr. Whitlock hears I skipped a whole day, my annual bonus won't even buy me a can of Coke.

I need that cash. I need any cash. Life in the city isn't cheap, and I have debts coming out of my ears.

Edward kisses my neck, brushing his lips over the sensitive skin just below my jaw. It's like there's a hotwire straight to my breasts. My nipples harden and I can feel myself getting wet. He runs a single fingertip down my arm, letting his knuckles brush the edge of my breast, and it's all I can do to hold myself still and not grind my ass against him.

"Or we could fuck." His voice is a growl in my ear. Every hair on my well groomed body stands on end.

"I have to—" my voice trails off as he lifts the hem of my dress, reaching round to feather his fingers up the front of my thighs, stopping just before he reaches my core. My train of thought seems to have disappeared with my dignity. I'm a hot, wet mess beneath his touch.

"What do you have to do, sweetheart?" There's a hint of a smile in his smooth, deep voice and I'm so aroused I can't do anything but moan. I'm so slick between my thighs he could just slip inside with the smallest of movements.

I want him to.

Somewhere inside the hot, sweet chaos that used to be my body, there exists an ambitious, driven woman. In a last-ditch attempt to coax her out, I close my eyes and try to tune out his touch. It takes every ounce of determination I have. His fingers draw tiny circles on the edge of my panties, so close ... so near to where I need him.

I practically launch myself out of the bed, landing on the soft carpet, my legs trembling with lust. Edward stares up at me, brows meeting in a deep frown, and I can tell he's just on the right side of pissed.

I guess he isn't used to rejection.

"I really have to go," I say breathlessly, smoothing the crumpled black silk over my thighs. "Shall I call reception and report the faulty lock?"

He wordlessly turns in the bed, this time so his back is to me. Sinewy muscles twist and turn under his skin when he reaches for the phone. Every inch of this guy is screaming for me to climb back into bed with him. I fidget on my toes, unable to remain still when my body is so close to the edge.

Damn it, it's not supposed to be like this. I should be smiling secretly to myself while listening to a lecture about synthetic silk and the future of fabrics. Not locked inside a hotel suite with my hot conquest and a mini bar full of goodies. A step away from an action replay.

When I put it that way, my predicament doesn't seem so bad.

"The phone isn't working." Edward slams it back down, and for the first time he looks flustered. "What the fuck is going on?"

I bite back a smile as he stumbles out of bed, his arm reaching out to switch on the nearby lamp. I'm waiting for it to turn on, so I can ogle his hot body with gentle illumination, but despite numerous clicks, and a few muttered oaths, it remains resolutely unlit.

"No electrics," he mutters, and tugs open the drawer next to the bed, pulling out a fresh pair of shorts. I'm almost disappointed to see him tuck away his junk, but I remind myself that I'm leaving and Edward can do whatever he wants to with his smooth, firm, and incredibly beautiful cock.

Even put it away.

It does seem a shame though.

He stalks across the carpet with the grace of a panther, and I follow him out to the lobby. I fold my arms across my chest as he rattles the handle of the door, pushing all his weight against the solid oak, his face twisting in frustration when it doesn't give an inch.

"It's completely stuck." He runs his hand through his thick, brown hair, and for a moment I'm transported to last night, when I tugged at it as he buried his face between my legs, his tongue snaking trails of pleasure against my core as I bucked against him in ecstasy.

I blame the lack of air conditioning for the heat that starts to course through my veins.

Edward brushes past me, walking back into the bedroom, and I swear I can see him smirk. Two spots of high color form on the apples of my cheeks as I try to banish all memory of his expert touch. I really need to concentrate on getting out of here.

I trail silently behind him, aware I'm doing nothing to help the situation. I would kill for a shower and a fresh pair of panties, not to mention a huge bucket of strong, black coffee. Without electricity I guess I'm out of luck for all three.

Edward calls down to reception, using his cell phone this time. His words are terse and clipped, and though I try not to listen, I can't help but be impressed by the way he is so commanding. I bet the person on the other end is quaking in their boots. I'm glad it's not me.

Or am I?

My mind is filled with a vision of Edward tying me up to the bed with silk scarves, whispering hot commands in my ear, telling me who's in charge. That voice—thick, smooth, yet full of expectation—makes me want to climb him like a monkey, clinging to every part of his body until we both go up in flames.

Jesus, I need a cold shower. I'm like a bitch in heat around this guy.

Edward drops his cell phone on the black, lacquered side table, then turns to look at me. I try to avert my gaze, not wanting him to see my ogling of his body, but I'm a second too slow. A sleepy, sexy grin spreads across his face, making my thighs want to clench.

"Well, Miss Swan, it appears we have a problem."

I'm absurdly gratified he remembers my name, as easily pleased as a stray cat. It's almost a surprise when he doesn't reach out to pet me.

I try to swallow down a purr before I can answer him. "A problem?"

"There's been a robbery in the hotel; a lot of money has gone missing. The police are searching the premises floor by floor. We're to remain in the suite until they get here."

"How long is it going to take?" I lick my dry lips. The thought of being stuck in a room with this absurdly handsome man thrills me, but it frightens me too. He's like the human equivalent of a rollercoaster. And though the thought scares me, I'm desperate to jump on and take a ride.

I know it'll make me scream.

"They're estimating an hour a floor."

I close my eyes and count up, estimating there's fifteen floors in this hotel. Edward's suite is right at the top.

"Fifteen hours?" I ask in a strangled whisper. "You've gotta be shitting me."

He takes one look at my face and bursts out laughing. "I am," he agrees, the glee written all over his annoyingly gorgeous face. "I'm totally shitting you."

A tiny part of me is disappointed.

"They should be done in a couple of hours." He's managed to compose himself. "Why don't you run yourself a nice warm bath, and I'll scavenge us up something for breakfast?"

A bath sounds delightful. I wonder why he's being so nice to me? It can't be that great for him, having me stuck in his suite, while we both wait for the cops to release us. I wonder how much money has been stolen.

"I'd love to," I agree, picking up my purse and walking into the over-large bathroom. I must have been sex-blind last night when I came in here to clean up after our third round, because I don't remember it being so ... luxurious. It's completely over the top; the floor and walls covered with large, cream-colored marble tiles, huge double sinks dominating one wall, and on the other a massive flat screen TV. The bathtub sits on a pedestal in the middle of the large room, and I'm almost disappointed to see there are no rose petals floating in there.

I shake my head and turn on the taps, watching the water fill it up. The hot water is steamy, despite the power cut, and I watch as little clouds of condensation float up from the surface. Reaching my hand out, I pour in the contents of three bottles of bath gel. If I'm going to be naked in here, I want my bubble shield as big as possible.

When it's full, I climb into the bath, piling my hair on top of my head in a top-knot. As I twist a hairband in to secure it, I feel a little like Marilyn Monroe in the Seven Year Itch. The bubble placement isn't quite as considered, and I'm way too brunette, but I go with the thought anyway.

I help myself to everything on the cabinet next to the bath. Sandalwood shower gel makes me smell just like Edward, and his razor is so smooth it's a pleasure to use on my legs. It glides like silk as I pull it along my calf, and I get a little excited when I think he may use it on his face later. I'm sure he won't mind.

Just as I'm shaving my armpits, Edward walks in, carrying a freshly laundered white t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants. Though he's put some clothes on, his hair is still askew, reminding me how I pulled at it when he made me come last night. Damn.

"I thought you might like some clean clothes ..." He trails off when he looks at me. I'm not sure what causes the expression of surprise to spread across his features. Maybe it's the way I'm dragging his razor down my armpit, or how my nipples have managed to poke their way through the white foam, blinking at him like a lighthouse in a storm.

How the hell did Marilyn manage to stay covered?

At least I have the good grace to look ashamed as I gently lay his razor down on the edge of the bath. "I'm really sorry," I stutter. "Your razor is great."

"Razor?" He looks surprised, his brows pulling down to form a deep v. He's so busted; Edward is definitely preoccupied by my nipples.

I'm a minute away from pulling him in the bath with me. But then I see that he's dressed, and holy shit, he looks great. He's wearing a pair of expertly tailored suit pants-hanging from his hips in a way that should be illegal—with a pale blue shirt, the top few buttons undone. Enough for me to see the top of his chest.

I guess we're even.

"I'll … ah ... leave them here." He puts the clothes on a wicker chair in the corner of the room and backs out slowly, his eyes still glued to my tits. I can't understand why he's so fascinated by them, especially since he spent all last night with them. He spent long hours caressing them, burying his head in my chest as he sucked and bathed my nipples with his hot tongue.

So why is he so fixated on them now? Is it the fact they're peeping out of the bubbles, like something a little naughty and hidden? Or maybe it's the way they're hard as hell, and pointing towards him like a pair of headlamps. I don't know what it is, but I'm pretty sure I like having this effect on him.

Edward clears his throat before he leaves the bathroom, his features molded into a frown. "Breakfast's ready."

* * *

**A/N - Fran and Sparrow polish my rough. Love you girls.  
**

**Thank you all for reading. This is a short 3-part story, the next chapter will be up on Saturday. I'll put a tease in my facebook group - please come and join, the link is on my profile page. You'll also be able to see the beautiful banner that Sparrow made for this fic - the girl has talent.**

**See you Saturday, Choc xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I walk into the bedroom wearing his crisp, white t-shirt and black pajama pants, the drawstring pulled tight and the hems rolled up. I have a sneaky suspicion I look like a clown. He's sitting at the table at the far end of the room, holding his cell phone out in front of him like it's the Holy Grail. I open my lips to tease him, but then I see the beautifully strange breakfast he has laid out on the table and the words turn to dust in my mouth.

The table is covered with a starched, linen cloth; plates and glasses shining and meticulously positioned. In the centre of the table—on a sparkling silver platter—are two tubes of Pringles, a bag of nuts and a Three Musketeers bar that looks old and crumpled. I have to say I'm relieved he has maintained some standards and left the miniature bottles of whiskey and gin in the bar where they belong.

"I would have put out some alcohol," he confesses, "but we pretty much emptied the bar last night."

Consider me muted.

"It's okay, I'm high on life." My inner-snark comes jumping out of my mouth. He looks at me with amusement.

"Will orange juice do?" He puts his cell phone down and gives me a fuck-hot grin. He's insanely handsome, in a way that makes me want to grind his face into the carpet and rough him up a bit.

He's way out of my league and it shows.

"That's fine," I reply, my voice cracking. To hide my embarrassment, I reach out for the Pringles, popping the lid off and picking out two chips. I layer them together, making them into a beak, then push them inside my lips and look up at him, my eyes crossed. I quack a little, enough to make him splutter out his juice, then suck the chips into my mouth and start to eat.

I'm such a loser.

The room is silent, save for our crunching and occasional gulp. My hands feel greasy from the food, my lips tangy and salty, and I moisten them with my tongue, trying not to look at the way he's staring at me.

He's affecting me everywhere—from my overheated cheeks, to my hard nipples and my soft, wet thighs. I'm certain he knows what I'm thinking about when a gorgeous smirk lights up his face.

Edward clears his throat. "So, ah, why don't you tell me about yourself?"

I stare at him. "Seriously? You really want to know any more than my cup size and whether I prefer doggy or cowboy?"

He coughs again. This time his skin flushes red, and his eyes look like they are popping out of his head. He rubs his stubbled jaw with his right hand.

"Seriously, I do."

I shrug, reaching out to grab a chocolate bar, kidding myself it's important for my calcium levels.

"I'm an interior designer, I live in Chicago in a shitty apartment with a hole in the roof and a door that never locks; which at the moment sounds like heaven." I gesture at his very locked door. Edward blanches at my words.

"Can't you get your landlord to mend it?" His lips curl into a scowl. I shake my head slowly.

"He really couldn't give a damn."

I finish the chocolate bar, crumpling the wrapper in my hand before throwing it at the trash can in the corner of the room. It misses spectacularly.

"Tell me, what do you do in this mighty city that never seems to sleep, Edward?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm in hospitality."

Now I've been around the block a few times, and been taken for a ride more times than I care to remember, but I haven't come out of it without learning a few things. Near the top of the list is that if a man says he works 'in' something, it usually means he's trying to hide something. Like the guy who worked 'in banking' and turned out to be a janitor in the Bank of America. Or the one who told me he was in 'law enforcement' when he really meant he collected protection money for a gang.

So when Edward tells me he's in hospitality, I take a fairly good guess that he tends a bar, or maybe waits tables. Although that doesn't explain why he's able to afford a suite like this.

I don't like that he's trying to hide something from me. It makes me feel grubby and used.

"What exactly do you do in hospitality?" I try to keep the bite of sarcasm from my voice. I want him to be honest. It really doesn't bother me whether he empties bins or manages a restaurant. It's the lying that grates on my already-frayed nerves.

He laughs nervously. "I work in this hotel."

Now I know why he can afford this room.

"I bet you get a hell of a staff discount," I suggest, nudging his leg with my big toe. He reaches down to capture my foot, bringing it up to his lap, his fingers caressing my instep.

"You could say that." His voice is hoarse. He catches my stare with his piercing eyes, and I find myself unable to look away. My heart misses a beat.

His fingers rub steady circles in my sole, making my toes curl up and my eyes squeeze shut. My body throbs in time to his movements, and as he shifts around I feel his hard cock brushing against my foot.

Jesus, he's rigid.

I bite my lip and stare at him through heavy eyelids. Gently pulling my foot from his grasp, I arch my instep and rub it along the hard line of his cock, feeling the fabric of his pants move in time with my caress. I feel him twitch as I press harder, and I imagine it's my tongue I'm running up his steel-hard ridge from his balls to the tip.

"Bella ..."

There's a table between us littered with empty cartons and wrappers, and he pushes it with his arm until it topples over, trash cascading over the carpet like confetti. The ensuing crash makes us both jump.

He lunges across the gap, wrapping his huge hands around my waist, pulling me toward him until I'm straddling his thighs on the chair, my legs wrapped around him like a ribbon on a gift. He shifts me forward, his hot hands burning my waist through the fabric of his shirt, and I gasp as his granite-hard dick runs a line of fire against my core.

"Shit ..." it's my turn to trail off now. He pushes my t-shirt up past my shoulders, then tugs it over my head, leaving me exposed in front of him, my nipples pebbling in reaction to the cool air of the room.

"So fucking beautiful." He leans down to capture a bud between his lips, tugging and sucking until my breath speeds, the sensations shooting straight between my thighs. I grind against him, desperate for some relief, and he moans around my nipple, the vibrations causing the most delicious pleasure. Wet heat pools at my core, and a moan escapes my lips.

I pull at the buttons of his shirt, getting stuck on the third. Desperation seeps through me as I tug harder, the need to feel his skin against mine at the forefront of my fevered thoughts. His button flies off with a 'pop', the thread tearing as I pull it clean away.

He doesn't seem to care, pulling the last three open himself, eyes glinting in the pale light as he stares at my body. He shrugs his shirt off and I place my palm on his bare chest. His sparse, bronze hair tickles my hand when I start to stroke his body.

Dragging a thumb across his nipple, I try to hide a triumphant smile when he groans loudly, his hips bucking up almost involuntarily. I touch him again, this time scraping my nail across his sensitive flesh, and his head falls back, as he expels a heavy rush of air.

His hands move down my sides in little fluttery movements, making my nipples peak harder than I ever imagined they could. My skin is over-sensitive, heated, and I feel like the merest touch could ignite me until I'm a flaming inferno, ready to burn at his feet.

He dips his fingers into the gaping waistband of his pajama bottoms, and I try to wiggle out of them but his legs are in the way. I stagger backwards and the pants tumble to the floor, making a black pool of fabric at my feet. I step out and tremble, naked before him, his eyes roaming my body as his hands palm his cock through his suit pants.

"Unzip me." His eyes are heated when he speaks.

I move forward, falling to one knee, my hand shaking as I reach out and take his zipper between my thumb and forefinger, slowly opening his fly.

His eyes are dark and hooded, and I want to gasp at the way his chiselled jaw twitches, his lips full and swollen as he stares at my tits. "Good girl. Now I want you to pull my pants down."

I tug at the waistband, and as his pants pull past his hips, his cock springs free and I realize he isn't wearing any underwear.

He is absolutely glorious. If I couldn't feel the warmth of his skin, I'd swear he was carved from stone.

"Suck it."

Before he even says the words, my lips are wrapped around his tip, dragging his warm hardness into my mouth. I run my tongue down the underside of his cock, followed by the softest scraping of teeth, and he bucks on the chair, rasping out an oath as I create a rhythm. I glance up at him through my lashes, my tempo never faltering as I watch his glistening mouth, hanging open as he pants, his eyes so dark they look black. He tangles his right hand in my hair, putting the slightest pressure on my scalp as he encourages me to go faster, his hips tilting to meet every thrust of my mouth.

When he starts to curse loudly, I suck him in deeper, feeling him hit the back of my throat. He pulls my hair until I release him, the determined tugging just this side of painful. My eyes are wide when I see the raw passion in his face.

"Climb up here and fuck me hard," he rasps, and I'm left with no choice but to do as he says. My body is desperate to be filled, my blood so heated its making my skin tingle. Like the easy lay I am, I straddle his body as my tiptoes touch the carpet. My fingers wrap around his hard cock, and I line his tip against my entrance, delighted we've already had the safe sex discussion. Now all I have to do is slide down until he fills me up, his thick cock pulsing inside my glistening core.

But I don't. Instead I wait, wanting to turn the tables and make him the one to beg. I move his cock in little circles against my entrance, moistening him with my excitement, watching his gaze becoming more intense.

"You want to be in control, baby?" He pulls his lips into a lazy grin, and I realize I don't want that. I'd prefer Edward to fuck me like there's no tomorrow.

"Only if you're not man enough," I goad, squeezing his cock until his lips fall open. He shakes his head, sexy grin still slashing his mouth, and then he yanks my arm away from his cock. He twists it behind me as he thrusts upwards, impaling me until I gasp with pleasure. I close my eyes and surrender to sensation, my whole being centered on his hardness and the way it rubs deliciously against me as he thrusts. He releases my arm and curls his hands around my hips, lifting me up and down until I'm almost crazy with lust.

His rhythm is unrelenting, almost to the point of pain. I find myself teetering on the edge of orgasm, my body slick with perspiration and pleasure. My thighs quiver every time he pulls away and he dips his head and pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth scraping as he sucks hard.

I lose all control of my muscles, letting him take my weight into his hands, and he steadies me as I spasm around him, and I exhale in little gasps. My tongue dances around his name as he starts to thrust again. His movements prolong my climax, and it's only a few seconds before he joins me, spurting hot gushes of come deep inside as his fingers dig into my hips.

"So good." He buries his head in my neck, mumbling about how he knew it would be. The way his lips move against my skin is almost painful to my over-stimulated nerve endings. I let my weight fall to his lap, feeling his come ooze out, and wonder why I even bothered to bathe when I was only going to get dirty again.

. . .

After we clean up ourselves—and the suite—I feel shy, like I want to go and hide in the corner of the room. Edward uses his cell again, and he sounds really pissed, making me feel hot and distracted. I want to ask him to take me to bed, to wrap his strong arms around me until I feel safe enough to doze, but that definitely isn't in the rule book for one night stands.

I don't even know how to classify this thing anymore.

Edward paces the room, staring out of the large window at the street below. He runs his hand through his hair, fingers messing until it looks totally fucked up and gorgeous. He glances over at me, and a lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he notices me watching him. My heart beats faster as our eyes meet.

He presses a button to end his call, putting his cell in his pocket before he walks back toward me.

"So tell me, Miss Bella Swan, if you could redesign this room, what would you change?"

I smile before looking around the room, taking in the starkly expensive decor, the clean lines and the muted colors.

Though it must have cost a lot of money, the interiors are as dull as dishwater.

"I'd add some wallpaper to one wall, something bold and zingy that I could bring out in the soft furnishings." I stand up and walk around the room, trailing my hands across the painted surfaces as the room takes shape in my mind's eye. "Over here I'd have a sectional sofa, something comfortable and less austere." I gesture at the white leather sofa, almost unbending in its cleanness. "And I'd replace these blinds with curtains, not too bold, but something strong enough to frame the view." The skyline stretches across all three windows, the man-made beauty breath-taking in its own way.

The room is totally silent. I pull myself away from my thoughts, scanning the room until I see him sitting on a chair, one grey trousered leg crossed over the other. His expression flits between awe and disbelief.

I'm disarmed by his silence. "What?" I laugh nervously.

He shakes his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You just ... surprise me."

"In a good way?" I clarify.

He stands up and walks over, pulling me to him by the waist until he can brush his lips against mine, hot breath fanning my face.

"Oh yes, Bella, in a very good way."

I kiss him back, threading my fingers through his hair. Our mouths clash and our tongues touch softly before the frenzy takes over and he starts fucking my mouth. I try to block out the inner voice that tells me this is a big mistake, that he's a player who's going to hurt me, but it is naggingly persistent to the point where I pull away.

"Is there any news from the front desk?" I step away from him, needing the distance to form my thoughts into a measure of coherency. His eyes crinkle as he stares as me, his lips swollen from our excessive kissing, and I smile apologetically, wishing I was better at this.

"The police should be here within ten minutes." He sounds almost regretful. I allow a little fantasy to play through my mind; one where he begs me to stay and I acquiesce and we fuck ourselves stupid on every surface of this room until we are raw and aching.

I file that one away until I'm alone with my thoughts.

The ten minutes pass quickly. I sort out my hair, and take a half-empty tube of lip-gloss from my evening purse, trying to repair the damage of over twelve hours of making love. My cheeks are too bright, my eyes too fevered, but I do my best to make myself look presentable for any inquisition that might be forthcoming.

Because I know it's going to be embarrassing.

_"No, detective, this isn't actually my room."_

_"How long have I known Mr Cullen? Well, it's been at least half a day."_

_"What was I doing when the robbery took place? Well, I was probably being fucked stupid by Mr Cullen, although he may have been in my mouth, or his mouth may have been on me, depending on the exact time of the crime_."

God, this is going to be mortifying. A sharp rap of knuckles on the door makes me jump out of my skin, and I am rooted to the spot as I watch Edward stalk over to the lobby. The hard muscles of his thighs are visible through his pants.

This time the lock opens easily, and he pulls the door wide, allowing a uniformed staff member to walk in, followed by two detectives.

"Mr Cullen, sir, I am so sorry about this—"

Edward cuts him off with a wave of his hand. I raise my eyebrows.

_Sir_.

Clearly not a bartender.

"Edward." The taller, blonder of the two detectives steps forward, reaching his hand out to shake Edward's. He is big and wide, built like a wrestler, but the two of them seem on very friendly terms.

"What's the situation?" I ask, and Edward glances at me nervously. "Do you need to take us in for questioning?"

The blond detective laughs, shaking his head. He looks at Edward with a furrowed brow. "What's she talking about?"

Edward is silent, and I notice a twitch forming in the corner of his jaw. I step forward until I'm alongside him, facing the two policemen.

"The robbery? Do you need to ask us some questions?"

"Bella, I ..." Edward starts to stutter. Gone is the cocky, over-confident guy who is 'something' in hospitality. He's been replaced by somebody altogether more modest. I kind of like it.

"Why would I want to ask you questions?" Blondie is as confused as I am. "I'm pretty sure the hotel owner wouldn't steal from his guests, and since you were with him for the whole of last night ..." His voice trails off.

And I stand there, my mouth silently open, my stomach nauseous as I process his words.

Realization washes over me like a bucket of cold water, making my skin turn to goose-flesh. Edward isn't a barman, or a waiter, or even a goddamned manager. He owns the hotel, in fact he probably lives in this suite, and I'm the one who looks a fool for ever believing a word he said.

I'd told him I had to go to the conference, I'd begged him to help me. He'd disregarded my wishes like my opinion meant nothing.

I swing my head back around to the detective. "Did you tell him to stay in this room until questioned?" I ask. Edward tries to say something but I silence him with a look, my displeasure clear as he shrinks under my gaze.

"No, ma'am," the detective replies. "Mr Cullen requested this room be locked until we completed the investigation. He told us not to disturb him until lunchtime."

Anger infuses me, and I whip my head around and glare at Edward. "Why the hell would you do that?"

He must have been laughing himself stupid, knowing he had me cornered, enough to squeeze one final fuck out of me before he could send me on my merry little way. He'd imprisoned me without even asking, and I'm both upset and livid that he's taken such a liberty.

Who the hell does he think he is?

Edward reaches out to touch me, his voice still muted, and I shake off his hand, trying to find the final shred of dignity that must be hiding somewhere in my body. Tears sting at my eyes, and all I can think is that I want to go home, to my nice comfortable life where I never take any chances.

Where I don't risk getting hurt.

"Am I free to leave?" I ask, and the silent detective nods his head. "In that case, I'll be going." I turn to Edward, who stares at me imploringly, his eyes wide as if in innocence.

I know damn well this is another lie.

"Bella, I was going to tell you." His hand hovers in the air as he debates whether to touch me. Eventually he pulls back, his lips drawn into a hard line. I want to kiss him and punch him, though maybe not in that order.

"That's very gracious of you." I don't even try to hide the sarcasm. "Particularly since I distinctly remember asking what you do for a living."

"I didn't lie." His protest is faint. I'm aware of the stares of three people burning into us, watching our exchange like we are a free form of entertainment. We are melodramatic actors in a 'b' movie, and I can feel the energy draining out of me. I just want to go home.

"You told me we couldn't leave the room. You told me we were locked in. You lied." I spit out the final words, hoping the pain I feel inside isn't obvious to them all.

"I wanted to ..." Edward begins, but I ignore him, flouncing out of the room, trying not to show any emotion. There's only one thing on my mind; get back to my room, pack my case and fly out of this town faster than a bat out of hell. I have to escape before I break down in tears at his expensively-shod feet.

Then I'm going to kill Alice Brandon in a slow, torturous and totally drawn-out fashion.

And it's that thought that gets me through the door without breaking down completely.

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for your kind reviews for the last chapter, they really made my day. **

**SunflowerFran waves her magic wand, making commas appear where there were none. Sparrow holds my hand and tells me everything is going to be okay. Thank you ladies.**

**The final chapter will be up on Wednesday. I'll try to send out teasers with review replies, but if I'm a total fail I'll be putting one on Fictionators Teaser Monday.**

**Oh - and I have a facebook and twitter account - the links are on my profile. I'd love to see you there.**

**Thanks for reading. Choc xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When I get back to work two days later, I find myself lying to Mr Whitlock, gilding over the fact that I completely missed the final day of the conference. I hope my embarrassment doesn't show as I reel off stories of interesting fabrics and imaginary contacts, knowing that none of them will ever call for an appointment. To my relief his attention is diverted when his son, Jasper, comes into the showroom, his wide grin and southern charm turning Alice into jelly as she tries to write a proposal.

"Hey, darlin'." He leans over her computer, reading her words out loud and making her giggle. I roll my eyes and stare at my own monitor, trying not to let the envy that's swirling around my body rise to the surface. It's not that I'm attracted to Jasper—even if he is a good looking boy—but their easy banter and secret smiles remind me of the way Edward was with me, right up to the moment he revealed himself as a big fat liar.

I've spent the past few days just existing. I get up in the morning, stare at myself in the mirror through unemotional eyes and go through the daily ritual of shower, hair, makeup and clothes. It grounds me somehow, stopping me from hating on myself too much, for berating myself for being such an easy lay.

In the evenings I eat a sparse meal, barely enough to make me full, and pretend I'm not waiting for the phone to ring. Even though I never gave him my number, he owns the goddamned hotel and could track me down so easily if he wanted to.

He obviously _doesn't_ want to.

I smother my misery with too much wine and too-hot baths. Even then I remember the luxury of _his_ bathroom, and the way he looked at me through the suds and bubbles. Knowing I was the one to walk away doesn't numb the pain a single bit.

A week later the embarrassment is only starting to fade, and I feel able to breathe for the first time in what feels like forever. I find myself smiling at my reflection, making an effort to look good for the new prospective client Mr Whitlock keeps raving about.

He's certain that he's come through the contacts I made at the conference, and I'm way too trussed up in my own lies to disabuse him of this fact. It does cut though, taking credit for a client that isn't even mine.

The project is big, according to Mr Whitlock's ramblings, and he wants all four designers to attend the meeting, with each of us taking down the information so we can work as a team. I allow myself to get excited; the thought of a huge project to sink my teeth into is the ultimate cure for my one-night-stand induced blues.

I need the distraction.

When I get into the office, the atmosphere is electric, and I notice we've all made an effort with our appearance. Alice suggests that we go out to a club later, since it would be sad to put all our effort to waste, and Jessie and Eric, the other two designers, agree immediately.

Mr Whitlock meets with the client first, and I can hear loud laughter coming from his office. It reassures me this isn't going to be one of those staid, boring projects, where the client is picky and hard to please.

Heck, it might even be fun.

Now that would be very welcomed.

At 11 a.m. we are all called in, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the big screen at the end of the conference room. I stare for a moment, the view familiar, in an unwelcome, spine-tingling way. I can feel my heart begin to beat faster as I absorb the images on the screen. The room is decorated with pale furnishings, all stark lines and uncomfortable couches. My eyes linger on a chair that's so familiar it makes my cheeks burn, and I remember the way it squeaked as I moved up and down until pleasure washed over me like the inward sweep of a morning tide.

A loud cough from Mr Whitlock makes me realize I'm staring at the screen like an open-mouthed loon. I'm too scared to look across at them, because I know from the way my skin tingles, exactly who our new client is, and I can't let him see me. Immediately I'm calculating the distance to the door, and wondering if I can make it without tripping over my ludicrously high heels.

"Bella, would you like to join us?" Mr Whitlock's imperious tone leaves me in no doubt this is an order, not a request. I swallow down the nausea that's threatening to rise, and turn my body around, staring at the floor as I walk over, sitting down in the empty chair.

"I'd like to introduce you all to Edward Cullen. He owns the Z chain of hotels."

Of course he owns the chain. Who would be happy with a single hotel, when you can have one in every major city? He'd clean up at Monopoly.

"Hello." Edward's smooth voice contains a smile. My gaze flickers over, making my heart stutter. He's even better looking than I remember; his brown hair is shiny and soft, and his features are hard and chiselled. His jaw is peppered with a layer of stubble, so delicious I imagine running my tongue along it, feeling it scrape me as I licked. He's so sharp he'd probably cut me wide open.

"Bella?" Mr Whitlock's prompt reminds me I'm the only one who hasn't shaken Edward's hand. I grin secretly when I think I've shaken a damn site more of him than his hand, then chastise myself as Edward's eyes meet mine, amusement dancing in his smile.

"Mr Cullen." I reach out and give him the briefest of shakes, but when I try to let go, he curls his fingers around mine.

"Please call me Edward."

His voice is pure seduction.

It's sweet torture.

"Edward." I say it like a sulky teenager. His grin grows.

"It's a pleasure, Bella." His lips make love to my name, and my knees start to shake. He takes his jacket off, his shirt snug across his muscled chest, and he rolls his sleeves up to reveal strong, tanned arms.

We all sit in the conference room for two hours, discussing his vision for the new hotel design. He drops in words like 'bold, zingy wallpaper' and 'accented soft furnishings' his eyes sliding to mine as he speaks. My gaze keeps moving to the screen on the wall, which is now scrolling through photos of the inside of the Z's flagship hotel, and every time the penthouse flashes, up my cheeks get a little hotter. As the team start to talk budgets and deadlines, the nausea starts to bubble up inside, until I push myself to standing and run out of the door, heading for the bathroom where I start to heave.

As I lean over the toilet I try to process what has just happened. I can't understand why Edward has chosen Whitlock Interiors to bid for his project, when we are a relatively small fish in an ocean-sized pond. I try—and fail—to ignore the nagging voice telling me I was booked into his hotel under the Company's name, because it leads me to one, horrifying, electrifying and absolutely amazing conclusion.

Edward Cullen is here because of me.

The door to the bathroom opens with a creek, and I hear Alice's heels clicking as she walks across the tiled floor. She pushes the cubicle door open and tries to comfort me, stroking my hair as I bring myself under control. Her silent support is enough for me to garner enough strength to stand up.

"So that's Edward." Her face splits into a huge grin. "Wow, Bella, he's smokin'."

I roll my eyes. "That's Edward." I'd told her all about him over a bottle of wine the night I got back. When I was able to speak through the sobs.

"Mr Whitlock asked me to check on you. He wants you to come back to the meeting. He's very excited you made such a good contact at the conference." She tries to restrain her laughter, but makes a poor show of it.

"I can't go back in." I'm mortified. "The last time I saw him I flounced out of his hotel suite in a huff."

"Well you obviously made an impression on him, if he's willing to spend a fortune just to see you again." She pulls me over to the sinks and helps me clean up, reapplying some lipstick and wiping away my smudged mascara. By the time we are finished, I look half human again.

"Now listen to me; you go in there with your head held high, Bella Swan. You did nothing wrong, so just work it, okay?"

I smile at her pep talk. Squaring my shoulders, I follow her back to the meeting, ready to look the sexy, hotel owner man straight in his gorgeous, emerald-colored eyes.

I won't be intimidated.

The meeting ends soon after my reappearance, though I do my best to enter into the discussions, meeting Edward's gaze with my own, challenging riposte. He seems amused by my newfound strength, his eyes soft as he watches me speak, and I try not to melt under his speculative glances.

"Bella, could you see Mr Cullen out?" Mr Whitlock asks as the meeting ends. "Since you're the one responsible for introducing him to the company." I can feel approbation radiating from Mr Whitlock.

Of course I'd love to show Edward out. After all, how much worse could this day get?

I stand up and gesture at the door, my smile forced as I meet Edward's gaze. When he gets to his feet, he towers over me, in spite of my heels, and I try not to remember his raw, brute strength as he took me over and over again.

"This way Mr Cullen." I keep my tone light.

"Edward," he corrects.

"As you wish." My fake smile grows.

We wend our way through the main showroom, heading for the industrial steel door that opens on to the street. Edward must have come through the service door earlier; if he'd used this entrance I'm certain I would have seen him.

When we get to the exit he pauses, his hand tugging at his hair. He looks like the Edward I remember just before I left his suite; awkward and embarrassed and unable to find the right words.

"Thank you for coming, it was a pleasure to meet you." I reach out to shake his hand, trying to cling to a measure of professionalism. But it's hard when the mere touch of his skin sets off sparks in my core.

"Have lunch with me." He trips over his words, disarming me with his intensity. He's amazingly sweet when he's like this, all shy and stuttering. It's such a contrast to the hot, dominating Edward who took me to such great heights. I'm not sure which side of him I like more.

"Why?" My voice is quiet as I ask him. I really want to know.

"I have some things I want to say." He shrugs, then smiles again. I find myself agreeing with a nod of my head.

We end up in the local deli, squashed in the corner at the tiniest table you could hope to find. Edward orders a pastrami on rye, and I order a chicken on sourdough, but neither of us eat much, both picking at the bread as we try to make some sense of it all.

"I never meant to make you feel bad," he explains when the waitress leaves, lifting a can of coke to his full lips. "I saw you the moment you checked in. I wanted to get to know you."

I blush when I remember exactly how well he got to know me.

"You certainly managed that."

He clears his throat, pushing his half eaten sandwich away. "I drank a little too much. I apologize for my lack of chivalry. I tried to make up for it the next morning."

"Was there even a robbery, or was it all a lie to keep me captive?" I tilt my head and stare at him enquiringly. He has the good grace to blush.

"There was a suspected theft. It turns out the cash was placed in a safety deposit box the evening before. The gentleman concerned was rather the worse for wear and remembers nothing."

I raise my eyebrows. "That was very ... convenient."

"I admit I asked them to keep the room locked for a few hours." He chews his lip.

"You wanted an action replay?"

"No!" His protest is firm. "I wanted to talk to you. I knew you were trying to escape." There's a twitch on the corner of his mouth. "I admit it comes across as slightly stalkerish ..."

"Slightly?" My lips quirk. "It sounds psychotic, like that serial killer who killed for company." When his face falls I realize I may have taken this line of reasoning a little too far. I quickly change the subject. "So what happened to getting to know me? We spent the morning having sex." I swallow hard as I remember riding him, feeling his hardness pulse inside me.

"Bella." His voice holds a warning. I catch a glimpse of his commanding persona, the one who took over in the hotel room. It makes me tremble.

"What?" My voice is a whisper. The diner empties around us as lunch hour draws to an end. I'm not sure if I should be leaving too, or if Mr Whitlock would want me to schmooze the client.

I choose to schmooze.

"So what happened?" I ask. "How did we end up having a one night stand?"

"_You_ happened. I couldn't keep my hands off you. You were like a drug, pulling me in until all I wanted to do was be inside you, above you, underneath you. Not that I regret any of it, but I wanted more. I wanted to get to know you. It wasn't just about sex."

The waitress brings over the check, slapping it on the table between us with a huff. We are clearly eating into her clean-up time. Edward glances up at her and her demeanor immediately changes. She simpers as she asks him if he wants anything else.

He shakes his head, inflicting her with a smile glorious enough to melt the polar ice caps. He hands her a fifty, telling her to keep the change. When we walk out into the afternoon air, her antagonistic persona has transformed into goo.

We stand outside the deli, my black, patent shoes kicking at the dusty sidewalk. I guess here is where it ends. He's given me an apology—not to mention a massively lucrative contract—and it would be churlish not to accept.

I glance up at him, shielding my eyes from the bright glare of the sun. "No hard feelings?" I offer him my hand to shake.

He curls his fingers around mine and as I try to withdraw, his grasp gets tighter. He pulls me toward him, our bodies brushing, and the familiar longing stirs between my legs.

"We're not finished here." He speaks like he has a throat full of gravel.

"We're not?" I lift an eyebrow. I'm determined not to show him how much he affects me. I will my heart to slow, my breath to start, the flush to disappear.

"I want to show you something." He tugs at my hand. As we approach the road, a black car pulls up, the driver climbing out and pulling his sunglasses off.

"Mr Cullen."

Edward all but pushes me into the backseat.

"Take us to the downtown Z please." His voice softens as he looks at me. "There's something I need to show Miss Swan."

I swallow hard, my mind racing with the possibilities. I'm wildly turned on and fuming with anger. It's a dangerous combination.

"You're taking me to a hotel?" I ask him archly.

"It's not like that ..." he stutters deliciously, and I want to climb on top of him. He's driving me crazy.

"Like what?"

He's silent as the car pulls away, merging into the midtown traffic. His chiselled jaw is full of tension, his body taut and ramrod straight.

We're pulling onto the hotel forecourt when he finally addresses me, heat burning from his verdant eyes. "I want to take you up to the penthouse. It isn't a trick and I won't lock you in. I'll even wedge the door open if you like."

I bite my bottom lip as I stare at him, intrigued at his suggestion. I'm desperate to see whatever it is he wants to show me. We climb out of the stationary car and he grabs my hand, pulling me alongside him. Our heels click as we step onto the marble floor in the entrance, and I glance around, surprised at how much it resembles his other hotel.

"McDonalds in hotel form," I murmur, and he tries to suppress a grin.

"It needs a woman's touch," he replies, and I laugh out loud.

The elevator car is empty when it arrives and we step inside. The mirrors reflect numerous Edwards and Bellas back at us, and I marvel at just how handsome he is in his tailored suit.

"Can we start again?" His lips are almost touching my ear. His breath tickles my neck.

"What do you mean?"

"What's that emergency contraception you take after a one night stand?" His face screws up in thought.

I frown, confused. "We didn't need emergency contraception. I'm covered, we talked about that."

"I want to wipe the slate clean, erase all the consequences of that night. Let's begin over like it never happened."

I look up at him. His expression is earnest. I reach out and cup his chin.

"Plan B," I whisper.

The elevator pings and we exit into the penthouse. He pulls a card from his pocket and slides it in, the whirring of the lock telling us it's released. He pushes the door open and we walk into a lobby that's hauntingly familiar.

I reach for his arm and curl my fingers around his bicep, holding onto him as he pushes open the door to the suite. My heart beats in anticipation, my blood running hot as we step in unison onto the plush cream carpet.

I gasp. I literally gasp, before my lips tilt into a shit eating grin. I look around the room, my eyes wide, and I tighten my grip on his arm.

"You listened," I sigh, taking in the bold, zingy wallpaper plastered to one wall, and the comfortable sectional sofa in the corner. The windows are framed by beautiful curtains, the view of the city like a canvas behind them.

"I heard every word." He moves in front of me and rests his hands lightly on my hips. "It wasn't just about sex."

I can't tear my eyes away from his heated gaze. The air fizzes between us like a freshly opened can of soda. His actions have touched my heart, making me want to throw myself at him in the worst way.

"You did this for me?" Sentimental tears sting at my eyes. I hardly know this man yet he affects me in the worst way.

The best way.

"For us." His voice catches. "Can there be an 'us'?"

I think of our night of passion, and the sexy morning after. I remember the way his face dropped as I flounced the room. I recall the way he stared at me in our meeting, his eyes dark and dangerous, and his stance predatorial. He's the perfect mix of sexy and sweet, determined and reticent.

"It's definitely up for negotiation." I arch an eyebrow and he smiles. His head tips toward me as his mouth claims mine, his soft kiss melting into something passionate and hot.

I curl my fingers into his hair, my tongue brushing against his. My body grinds against him as he hardens against my belly. He moans into my mouth and it turns me to jelly, the ache between my legs throbbing and insistent.

I push him toward the sofa he so thoughtfully bought and smile as he twists me round, his fingers rough as he grasps my waist.

"You're forgetting who's in charge here," he chides as he pulls at my zipper, releasing my silk dress until it's a pool of fabric at my feet.

"At this rate we're going to need a Plan Z." My words are breathless as his hands dip beneath my bra. His laughter vibrates against my neck.

"Works for me. When we run out of letters we'll use numbers." He unclasps my bra and my breasts fall heavily into his hands. His thumb brush against my nipples, making them peak, the sensation shooting straight between my legs.

I fall against the sofa, the fabric soft on my back. "Fuck Plan B," I moan, as his hand pushes between my thighs.

"My thoughts precisely."

* * *

**A/N - Thank you SO MUCH for reading-this wouldn't be any fun without you guys. I've loved your reviews big time.**

**Loads of love to Fran for beta'ing, and to Sparrow for pre-reading and making such an excellent banner. **

**If you want to download a PDF version of this, I've made a pretty one and will post it on my wordpress account (links on my profile).  
**

**Finally, I'll be posting a new story very soon. I'll post some teasers over the next week or so in my facebook group so feel free to join, the links are on my profile again. You'll find me there, flailing over Dior Rob photos.  
**

**Thanks again, and see you soon I hope!**

**Choc xoxo**


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